


Scars on your arms, Scars on your heart

by Loreyulia



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Healing, Hurt and comfort, M/M, mentions of self harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-10
Updated: 2016-05-10
Packaged: 2018-06-07 13:41:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6807310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loreyulia/pseuds/Loreyulia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin Oakenshield has recently come to terms with his newfound feelings in regards to the Companies resident Burglar. Now that they have finally found some time to be alone, just after the relationship altering hug atop the Carrock, Thorin discovers a dark secret the Hobbit had managed to keep hidden. The scars that litter Bilbo's arms, and worse, his heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scars on your arms, Scars on your heart

Author's Note: This is a one shot I've been working on for about a year now. I know, an entire year is a ridiculous amount of time spent writing some thing so short... but this fic was brought out in times when I really needed to vent out my inner demons. There is some rather sensitive material in this story about mentions of self harm, so if stuff like that bothers or triggers you, I kindly ask that you not read this. However, if fics like this are your cup of tea, then please enjoy.   
Scars on your arms, Scars on your heart 

The acrid stench of singed fur clung to Thorin Oakenshield, much like an unwanted second skin. He wrinkled his nose in distaste and unbuckled the clasps that kept his handsome fur cloak in place; dumping it unceremoniously into a sooty heap upon the loamy soil beneath his feet. 

His companions did not fare any better, in the aftermath of the fire at the edge of the cliff. Thinking back upon the ordeal, Thorin came to the conclusion that he would never take the Eagles for granted again- or, a certain utterly daft Hobbit for that matter...

Speaking of Hobbit's, Thorin wondered where their resident burglar was amongst the chaos of burned, bruised, and scraped Dwarves that made up his Company. He cast his curious gaze across the clearing, that was at the very foot of the Carrock; and he could not help but notice the anxious lines, the fear upon his companions faces. After all, an evil long thought dead had just reappeared like a nightmare in their waking world... how could he blame his kith and kin for feeling such trepidation? 

The sunlight glinted off of flaxen, curly hair, drawing Thorin's attention. The sight of Bilbo Baggins's bobbing head, as he sifted wordlessly through his pack, made him smile irrationally wide. A sudden warmth blossomed in Thorin's chest; to see young Master Baggins alive, and presumably whole. 

Ever since that tiny, mad Hobbit thrust his significantly smaller frame between himself and Azog the Defiler with naught but a glowing letter opener, and his vast courage to protect them- Thorin noticed a shift in his feelings for their Burglar. How could he not admire such bravery? Even if Bilbo was trembling in barely contained fear, he was willing to lay down his life for him- and that, was something no man could not acknowledge as the greatest display of love. 

Thorin had had precious little time to mull this all over though, what with practically dying and being brought back from the brink of oblivion by the Grey Wizard; and then having to rally his men, and press onward. The hug atop the Carrock still burned freshly in his mind, and his skin warmed considerably at the mere remembrance of it. 

If Thorin knew any better, he might have realized the budding affection in his heart sooner- perhaps then he would not feel so colossally moronic over the way he treated Bilbo before. Now he was avowed to make amends, and possibly open Bilbo's heart to him in return. If not in a romantic way, than at least in friendship. 

With a soft sigh, Thorin weaved his way through the Company- offering up small, comforting words and gestures as he went along. Every last one of his men were willing to lay down their lives for this Quest; no amount of gratitude could make up for that, until they reclaimed their Homeland. Swift emotions clogged his throat as he passed his Nephew's; Fili gently bandaging a Warg wound on Kili's forearm-- barely concealed tears threatening to fall from the eldest's cool grey eyes. Thorin gave them both a soft, loving smile when they noticed his staring; and they returned it brightly with waving arms and crinkled faces. 

He would check on his Nephew's later, for right now they had eachother to lean on. It did not escape Thorin's notice that Bilbo was somewhat removed from everyone else. He wondered if it was because the Hobbit still did not feel fully accepted into the group, or if solace was sought in solitude for Bilbo. 

The thought stymied his advance for only a moment before he banished the notion, and pressed on. If anything, he needed to know if Bilbo was unharmed. Thorin reached his destination just as the Hobbit bent over; presenting him with an unexpected, but definitely not unwelcome, view of his plump backside. The way his perfectly cut trousers hugged his arse, and rode up a little to display his calves in all their milky white glory, made Thorin have to mentally shake away his creeping desire-- lest he make this situation more awkward than it had to be.

"Ahem," Thorin muttered, subtly trying to catch the Hobbit's attention. 

Bilbo righted himself with a quick jerk and turned; a puzzled frown crinkling his expressive face. A bit of soot was smudged across his snub nose and left cheek, and it sullied his golden hair. He flicked his stormy blue gaze up to greet Thorin's stern countenance, and the Dwarf noticed some thing defensive hardening the Hobbits features. 

"Is every thing alright? Do you need me to--" Bilbo began, but was cut off by Thorin's abortive flick of the wrist. 

"Nay Master Baggins, be at ease-- I'm merely here to inquire after your well being. You weren't... injured at the cliffs were you?" 

The surprise that widened Bilbo's eyes stung a bit, but Thorin could not begrudge him for such a reaction; after all, it was one of the rare few times that he had sought after the Hobbit's company since they first started this journey. 

With a start, Bilbo began to babble, "Um, er... no, I'm fine! A bit singed here and there, but I'll manage-- especially once I get these clothes all washed out." He stopped suddenly, swallowed and looked away nervously before he added, "But thank you, um for asking. How are you, Thorin? Are you injured?" 

With a grimace, Thorin begrudgingly answered the Halfling's question. "Aye, I believe so Master Baggins... I'm afraid that accursed Warg's teeth pierced through my mail. Fear not though, the wound is only superficial-- nothing too deep." 

"Thorin," the Hobbit accused, voice low and warning, "it does not matter how small the injury is, you could have made it worse by such hard travel! Please tell me that you at least bandaged it, before we left the top of the Carrock?!" 

The Dwarf's guilty expression pretty much did all of the answering for him. 

"Oh of course you didn't!!" Bilbo exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air, smiling humorlessly to himself. "No, you can't stand to put your pig headed pride aside for even a second, can you? I'm surprised that you haven't passed out due to blood loss..." 

"Now see here Master Baggins--" Thorin began to thunder in response, fully aware of the scene they were causing-- only to be cut off. 

"Right, come with me." Bilbo snatched the hem of Thorin's tunic sleeve, and began marching toward his abandoned pack. Without a word the Dwarf followed, and waited patiently as Bilbo retrieved the items he was looking for: a roll of extra cloth, thread and a needle, and some type of salve. After he got what he wanted tucked away in his pockets, he resumed his death clutch on Thorin's sleeve, and pulled him towards the trees. "If any of you need us, I'll be mending your future King by the riverside before he keels over--" Bilbo called out, before falling into irritable mumbling over the stubbornness of Dwarves. 

Thorin smiled to himself, amused by Bilbo's grouchy yet caring behavior; and by the way the Hobbit yanked him along as if he were a child, and not Dwarven royalty. 

He's so small, but so fierce when the cause arises-- are all Hobbit's like this? Or is Bilbo special...? Thorin thought it best not to pose these questions to Bilbo; the last thing he wanted right now, was to offend him in some way like he was so prone to do. 

Instead, Thorin continued to let himself be pulled along in which ever direction Bilbo chose, in silence. The high noonday sun filtered down through green leaves-- a myriad of dappled light and shadows racing across Bilbo's tiny frame. The dirt on his skin, the leaves clinging to his bare feet-- the warm light surrounding the Hobbit suited him more than fine clothes, and a stagnant lifestyle ever did. 

It would not be like this forever, Thorin bitterly realized. Eventually their Quest would come to an end, and either Bilbo would travel home to the Kindly West, or they would all perish in Dragon fire trying to reclaim a long forgotten home. He despised the brief, selfish desire he felt; to travel like this, ever at the Hobbit's side. To show those precious, stormy blue eyes all the wonders of Middle Earth... 

He knew that Bilbo would like that-- would follow him through any adventure with a snarky complaint, and fire in his eyes. But, Thorin had a duty to his people, and honor to uphold. Only this strange Halfling could make him re-evaluate every thing he had ever strived for. 

Bilbo stopped suddenly, and Thorin near ran into him as he was ripped away from his brooding thoughts and emotions. They had reached the river, the rushing water running over smooth rocks was the only sound to be heard aside from their shared breathing. Thorin felt the tiny fingers clutched at his sleeve start to tremble for the briefest moment, before they clenched harder, and then stilled. 

"Master Baggins, are you alri--" Thorin started to ask, but was cut off by the Hobbits sharp reply, 

"I'm fine! Just... next time you're hurt, come to me sooner okay? Or better yet, go to Oin. Don't just wait around until you get an infection, because you think it's weak to ask for help." 

Thorin swallowed his proud and angry responses heavily-- guilt making him frown, and feel upset. "I'm... I'm sorry for worrying you Master Baggins. I promise to take better care of myself in the future." 

Bilbo finally turned to face him, and Thorin grimaced to see tears lining his long lashes-- wobbling there, but refusing to fall. "You better Thorin Oakenshield," the Hobbit demanded. Thorin thought it best not to remind Bilbo, just who exactly he was bossing around. Especially when the Hobbit's concern for him made a certain kind of warmth blossom in his chest. 

Sniffling a bit, Bilbo looked ashamed of his tears and turned away saying, "Just take your shirt off so we can be rid of this tiresome ordeal, and so I can sleep easy tonight knowing you won't kick the bucket." 

Thorin chuckled at the Hobbit's seemingly over protective streak and did as he was asked; the sticky, fire singed wool peeled away from the dried blood on his shoulder, and the dull ache had him gritting his teeth to hold back a pained grunt. 

He stood there uncomfortably for a few moments; fiddling around with his shirt before Bilbo glanced up at him again. The Hobbit opened his mouth when he caught sight of the wound-- his expression turning thunderous. He clamped his words down with a clenched jaw, however, raising his grey-blue eyes up to meet Thorin's. 

"Make yourself comfortable by the river edge, this is going to take some time," Bilbo muttered softly, his voice subdued as he shifted out of his travel worn, velveteen jacket. He surprisingly tossed the thing carelessly to the ground. Without hesitating, Thorin did as the Hobbit asked, and picked out a fallen log that had been washed ashore to sit on. 

He watched Bilbo wordlessly; the tiny creature scowling darkly as he stalked toward the rippling water that lapped at the shoreline. Bilbo crouched down and dipped one of the rags into the water-- pushing up his dirty sleeves to his elbows with a distracted movement. 

Thorin observed every move, enjoying this rare opportunity to witness the many facets that the Hobbit had; he was like a finely crafted gem stone that shone with a thousand different fractals. Bilbo eventually made his way back, his wet forearms shimmering under the sunlight. 

Bilbo's arms were very pale, though Thorin hadn't expected much else. What caught his attention though, was some thing he did not expect to see. "B-bilbo...?" Thorin knew that he sounded like a lost, very confused child-- but every thing he thought he knew about their soft little Burglar, had just been turned on its head. 

He stared wide eyed at the lines criss-crossing all along Bilbo's fleshy underarms. From the wrist, all the way to the crooks of his elbows, there were pale scars-- silvery under the sun, and connected like constellations. Some of the scars were faded and brown, not as old as the pale ones, and some-- just a few-- were slightly pink. Only weeks old at the most. 

Some were short and thin, and others were gouged deep, and left wide marks. For the most part, the scars were just discolored lines against his skin-- but, there were quite a few more toward the wrist and elbow areas, that were puffy and raised. 

"Oh, uh--" Bilbo tensed, his eyes flashing with panic as he looked down at his exposed skin. He pursed his lips, then sighed heavily through his nose; his face an unreadable mask. Just as suddenly, all of the tension seemed to drain out of the Hobbit, and he raised his dark blue eyes up to study Thorin's baffled expression. 

"It had become so easy to hide them, that I momentarily forgot they are there..." Bilbo murmured, his voice flat and toneless. His attention returned to his scarred arms and he frowned-- looking very disturbed by the sight. 

Thorin did not realize he was trembling, until his shaky fingers ensnared the Hobbit's frail wrist. "Bilbo... these," he felt his chest clench, the pressure making it hard to speak around the sudden lump in his throat, "your... scars, who would do such a thing to you? Why didn't you tell us sooner?" 

Bilbo laughed, but it was bitter and empty. "Thorin... I'm the one who," he stopped, and choked back a sob. "I made those scars myself, Thorin." 

The tearful admission rang through the complete silence that followed it. Bilbo's watery eyes were still downcast, so he could not see the array of emotions that flitted across Thorin's face. After over a minute of uncomfortable disquiet, the Hobbit's eyebrows drew together in a furious line, and he tried to yank his wrist free. "If you're so angry with me that you can't speak, then don't bother--" he looked back up to Thorin, ready to scream and rage, but fell silent. 

Thorin's expression was like a gut punch that Bilbo was not expecting to receive. His mouth was caught between a horrified gasp and a frown; but the fact that there were tears welling in Thorin's piercing blue eyes, shocked Bilbo the most. 

Thick emotions strained Thorin's vocal chords when next he spoke, soft and heartbreakingly compassionate. "You must have been hurting deeply, to inflict such pain upon yourself... I can imagine what you were feeling, and I'm sorry it led to this." 

A work worn thumb grazed the darkest, deepest scar on Bilbo's left wrist-- and then, the Hobbit broke. 

He cried, unashamed of his tears; of the snot trailing from his nose, and down his chin. His shoulders shook, and he gasped for breath between broken sobs. And then, tentatively, Thorin placed a hand on the back of Bilbo's golden curls and pulled the shaking Hobbit into his arms. The embrace was sudden and silent on Thorin's end-- but, Bilbo buried his face against the Dwarf's uninjured shoulder, and let himself be held. 

Thorin soothed his fingers through soft curls, and he sat there as long as he was needed to; a bastion of comfort and quiet acceptance. His heart ached fiercely, knowing that Bilbo had run sharp steel across his skin, to rid himself of some sort of darkness. 

"I don't know why I did it," Bilbo eventually croaked, his forehead digging into Thorin's shoulder. "I just... was so tired of feeling so empty. I wanted to feel some thing, any thing, again..." The Hobbit's voice sounded distant, hollow in its emotionless quality. Thorin knew firsthand how detachment from a situation helped lessen the burning ache of sorrow it could cause. 

After a few more moments of silence, Bilbo pulled away and stared imploringly at Thorin. "Aren't you," his tear stained face scrunched in confusion, "why aren't you getting angry? Doesn't this," Bilbo gestured toward his arms, "doesn't it upset you? To learn of how weak I truly am?" He spat the words out like the bitter poison that they were. 

"The only reason that I have to be upset, is that I could not be there to stop you-- and let you know how precious and needed, you truly are." Thorin cupped his hands against Bilbo's salty cheeks, his thumbs idly brushing away any lingering tears. 

Bilbo shook, his small body racked with emotion as he regarded the future King Under the Mountain, in a whole new light. Quite suddenly though, a dark and brooding expression rearranged Bilbo's features into a scowl. "If just seeing my arms almost brought you to tears, I hope you never witness what my thighs look like..." 

Thorin leaned closer, and placed the most gentle and sweetest kiss upon Bilbo's forehead; an overwhelming amount of regret shadowing his eyes. When he pulled away, a tiny smile was on Bilbo's face. Bilbo did not say anything further, only shifted just enough, so he would have room to start wetting the sticky mess of blood that decorated Thorin's other shoulder. He cleaned the wound in content silence. 

Thorin mutely watched Bilbo wash away the thick, encrusted mess of blood that surrounded his wound. He tried, however, not to catch glimpses of the Hobbits arms as they swung back and forth in a gentle scrubbing motion. Every time he caught sight of the plethora of scars scattered across Bilbo's skin, it made Thorin want to hold the Hobbit so close to his heart, that overflowed with sorrow and love. 

Bilbo worked, equally silent; his brooding features pulled tight in concentration. After he managed to wash away all of the blood, and was given a clearer view of the injury that lay beneath, Bilbo procured the salve from one of his trouser pockets. He twisted off the ceramic lid, and a wave of lavender wafted out and tickled at Thorin's nose. The gooey, purple concoction that was inside the jar was most likely of Elvish make. Thorin frowned, and sulked quietly to himself at the thought. 

"It started shortly after my mother died," Bilbo suddenly piped up; never tearing his eyes away from the task at hand. Thorin knew immediately what the Hobbit meant, and swallowed thickly. He wasn't sure if he was ready for this, but knew he needed to let Bilbo get this off of his chest. "The house was so quiet. No singing. No laughter. Just me, and my thoughts." 

Bilbo grimaced, a dark look shadowing his brow. His nimble fingers dipped into the salve, and then he was tenderly soothing the medicine over Thorin's mangled flesh. "I've never been particularly social, so when my parents were both gone, I retreated further into myself. And when I burrowed deep enough, I realized that I didn't like what I found." 

Thorin hissed at the initial sting from Bilbo's fingers rubbing into his open wound, but bit down on the strangled curse he desperately wanted to scream out. There was no way in Mordor that he wanted to break this fragile moment of trust growing between he and the Hobbit. Bilbo belatedly wiped the excess mess onto his filthy trousers, and re-capped the medicine jar so he could drop it into the confines of his pocket once more. He fished out the needle and thread next, and for the first time since he started treating Thorin's wound, he looked up to his piercing gaze. "This will sting quite a bit," Bilbo informed with an apologetic sort of smile, "but this needs stitching up, and can't be helped." 

The Hobbit quickly threaded the eye of the needle, and tied a knot off on the end. With one last weak, rueful half smile, the tip of the needle pierced into Thorin's flesh. This time, however, he did make a pained groan as the needle worked its way to the other side of the wound. Sweat beaded Thorin's brow as he clenched his jaw against the pain; but Bilbo was making quick, efficient work of it and within mere moments, he had the whole thing stitched up. 

When it was all said and done, Thorin felt clammy and weak, but the wound itself did not throb as insistently as it had before. "There," Bilbo muttered as he stowed away the bloody needle, "that should do the trick." Thorin nodded gratefully, he had not expected for the Hobbit to be so well trained in the area of stitching up wounds. And suddenly, Thorin felt very ill at the realization that hit him like a punch to the gut. His gaze flashed to a few of the wider, angrier looking scars, and it all made sense. 

"You've done this before, haven't you?" He asked, tone surprisingly calm and even. 

Bilbo looked at him in confusion, until he noticed how Thorin's gaze lingered meaningfully on his scars. "When you live alone, and you have an addiction to ripping open your own skin, you're forced to learn a few things so you don't end up dead." Mahal, the hollow quality of Bilbo's voice was even worse than the words he was saying some how. 

Without preamble, Thorin took hold of Bilbo's wrists (not hard enough to hurt, but enough to dissuade the Hobbit from pulling away), and he brought them close to his chest; cradling them against his thrumming heart. "Bilbo... please," Thorin's voice broke and he had to look away for a moment to collect himself. When he regained control over his emotions, he locked eyes with Bilbo again; who looked apprehensive and a touch confused. "I beg you, please don't ever hurt yourself like that again-- you don't deserve it, okay? You don't deserve it." 

Bilbo crumpled under the weight of Thorin's thickly coated plea, a look of utter guilt washing over the Hobbits features. "I... I can't make a promise like that, Thorin. I've tried to stop before, but the numbness will set in, and I become so powerless against it." Bilbo was shaking again, on the verge of another sobbing breakdown. He hated the pity in Thorin's eyes, he was not worthy of such tender concern. 

Hands were suddenly cupping his face, and the Hobbit found himself being pulled closer; his lips a hairs breadth away from Thorin's lips, their breath mingling hot and humid between them. "Please," Thorin begged, his eyes screwed shut as if he was in tremendous pain. Bilbo's breath caught in his throat, everything suddenly becoming so very clear to him. "So," Bilbo suddenly remembered, "this is what it was like to feel loved..." 

Bilbo shifted up onto the tips of his toes, and pressed the softest kiss to Thorin's lips. Thorin's eyes flew open, only to see Bilbo pull away; tears streaming down the Hobbit's face. "Thank you Thorin," Bilbo sobbed out, his whole body trembling with the force of his tears. 

"Why are you thanking me?" Thorin asked incredulously. 

"For loving me." 

Bilbo's words made Thorin flush, and he looked down to the ground in embarrassment over being found out so easily. Was he really that bad at hiding it? 

The Hobbit suddenly laughed, a sound which was the last thing Thorin had expected to hear coming from the Halfling's mouth. His eyes flicked back up to meet Bilbo's, and though he was laughing, tears still seemed to fall endlessly from the Hobbit's storm blue eyes. Bilbo suddenly curled his fingers over Thorin's freshly mended wound. "If you... if you promise to tell me whenever you get hurt, as soon as you get hurt," Bilbo began, his voice wavering between them, "then I'll promise to come to you whenever I want to hurt myself." 

Bilbo raised his gaze to meet Thorin's and he searched the Dwarf's face imploringly. He was terrified, of course; giving this up was giving up a part of himself-- some thing that never failed to cut through the emptiness that welled up inside of him. He was placing his trust, placing his heart, in Thorin's work worn hands. 

Thorin gave Bilbo the tiniest, most genuine smile the Hobbit had ever seen, in response. He encased the Hobbit's small hand, and pressed his knuckles deeper against his beating heart. "I promise," Thorin murmured sweetly. 

Bilbo nodded slowly at that, fresh tears threatening to blur his vision as he replied, "I promise." They came together then, their mouths aligning far more perfectly than stars, and they kissed with a promise. A promise of love. A promise of accepting pain, and healing pain. They pulled apart with a promise, that there would always be another kiss on another day. 

Thorin smiled, sad but sweet, at his One. He was not so foolish as to believe that he could mend Bilbo's spirit as easily as the Hobbit had mended his flesh, but he was going to try. Each and every day, he would try. For now, it would have to be enough for the both of them. 

When they finally broke apart, Thorin stood and snatched up Bilbo's velvet jacket from off of the forest floor. He helped the Hobbit put it on, but before Bilbo could pull away, Thorin lifted his wrists up to his lips for one final kiss. After all, the deepest promises are always sealed with a kiss. 

Bilbo smiled affectionately at Thorin, and wondered what a silly Hobbit like himself did to become the center of such a loving Dwarf's attention. He chose not to dwell on that. Instead, Bilbo took Thorin's hand and lead him out of the woods. 

A dark shadow of his past now lay far behind him and only the world, with Thorin by his side, was ahead. 

The End.


End file.
